an admission of failure
by anamericanmarriage
Summary: Scenes from a nervous breakdown.


_Flangst is good. Flangst is very, very good. Title is from "Little Beast" by Richard Siken._

* * *

"I should see a therapist," Brian states.

He _states_ this, of all things, and it immediately births a pit in Stewie's stomach. He may be young, and in some respects he may be naive, but he's not an idiot.

"Darling, this whole family should see a therapist," he says, trying to keep his voice light, playful, but Brian, laying prone and silent like the dead, laughs an ugly little sound that has the pit kicking this time, like Stewie's pregnant all over again and begging Brian to feel the baby, and says, "You know what I mean. You're not an idiot."

"Thank you for noticing," Stewie says, for lack of a better response, and then, better but still not perfect, in fact emphatically _im_ perfect, "I don't want to have this fight with you again. You're not taking advantage of me. You're not a pervert."

"Sure," Brian says flatly, "I'm not a pervert. It's perfectly natural and normal to fuck a child. I mean, priests do it, too, so maybe it's even a little holy." He laughs again, and Stewie wants desperately to shut him up with a kiss.

"Don't bring up religion in bed," Stewie chides him, incredibly gently so as not to spook him. "It dampens the mood."

"If I don't see a therapist, then I'm killing myself," Brian states.

He states _this,_ too, of all things, like he's decided where they're going out to eat tonight, something blandly intimate like that.

"I can't keep doing this to you, Stewie," he adds, his voice warbling. "You're five years old."

"And disgustingly in love with you," Stewie bites out. "You know, it's an insult to my maturity when you question my consent. It makes me feel like you don't take me seriously. Nothing makes me feel more my age than you constantly condescending to me about whether or not I want your prick in my arse. The answer, always, is 'yes,' you mangy mutt. I'll let you know the second my answer changes, not that it ever will."

"I shouldn't be able to get off with you," Brian shoots back a little wildly. He hasn't looked Stewie in the eye once since this conversation began. "You're a kid. I mean, fuck, okay, whatever, you have a dick, that's fine, I can handle that, I'm not a homophobe, but you're just a kid."

"You're making me feel rather unattractive," Stewie says, throwing off the covers and climbing out of bed, beginning to rustle through his drawers to look for clothing. "I'm sorry that I don't have tits, I guess? You certainly don't have to sleep with me if you don't want to. I believe I'm entitled to more than a pity fuck."

"That's not the problem!" Brian explodes, finally sitting up. In any other circumstance, he would like quite nice like that, fur all rumpled and spent cock half-hidden underneath Stewie's sheets and passion in his eyes. "The problem is that I want you all the time. I am an adult. You are a child. I don't want to want you." His voice breaks when he adds, "But I do. Want you."

Stewie closes the drawer and crawls back into bed. Brian flinches away from him, which makes Stewie feel for a moment like an abusive boyfriend. He gingerly cradles Brian's face in his hands and kisses him on the nose.

"I want you, too," he says, face still close enough to Brian's that Brian can feel his breathing. "I don't know how else to communicate that to you. I've tried everything. I'd draft up a contract binding me to you if I thought that'd make any difference, but it doesn't. Nothing does. You still see me as a child." He lets a hand fall carefully from Brian's face to his knee. "I know that you loathe the thought of me with other men, but you're not the first, Brian. I very much enjoy your jealous streak, but it doesn't change the fact that I had quite an active sex life before you. Do you think that those men checked in every thirty seconds to see if I'd changed my mind?"

"I wish they had," Brian says, closing his eyes against a swell of protectiveness, a bone-deep canine loyalty that decades of living essentially as a human didn't manage to erase. "I wish they'd never touched you at all."

"I know," Stewie tells him sweetly. "I am flattered, you know. It makes me feel more than wanted to know that you care about me - it makes me feel loved. I just get so frustrated when I see you beating yourself up for your attraction to me. I wish - " Stewie draws a shaky breath; dear God, he hopes that he doesn't start crying, not _now,_ he needs to be _strong_ now, strong for Brian " - I wish that I could be what you needed."

"You are," Brian tells him. "Don't - don't cry, Stewie, please. You are what I need. I just don't _want_ to need you. I feel so broken."

"You're not broken," Stewie reassures him, leaning up to kiss his forehead this time. "And I'm not crying," he adds, sniffling a little. "I just hurt when you hurt. You know, like couples who are deeply, madly in love with each other tend to."

"I'm scared," Brian admits. "Of my depth of desire for you. Of everything."

"Well, true love is a little intimidating," Stewie says. "Can I kiss you now?"

"You've been kissing me," Brian says, smiling a very small smile that nonetheless has Stewie's face brightening.

"You know what I meant," Stewie tells him, and kisses him directly on his dumb, self-flagellating mouth.


End file.
